The Rabbit Screamed
by vilestofworms
Summary: Clarice is fired. Dr. Lecter goes to see her. I know, I know, not a new premise. But the conclusion is a doozie. Read it. Then review.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of 'em. Don't sue me. Seriously: I'd run before you'd get my money. That said, I hope this doesn't shame Harris too much.

As Lecter parked outside Clarice's home, he recalled the newspaper article which had announced her departure from her beloved FBI. The picture of Starling was the epitome of despair, which is why Lecter felt so drawn to her. Head down, hair covering her face, Lecter could only imagine the level of pain in those eyes. It was only natural he would be there to catch his falling roller pigeon.

Indeed, poor Starling's wings had been broken, and there was nothing but a pit of snakes waiting to receive her if she was not rescued. From this last tour of her home, before their dinner at Paul Krendler's house, he had found a disturbing amount of the more potent alcohols. He wondered off-handedly what she planned on doing for a living if he could not convince her to stay with him. Whatever it was, Starling would be neither happy nor content with it. He had learned the hard way that Clarice's devotion to the FBI, while unreciprocated, was concrete and the center of her universe.

As Lecter recognized that, a bitter taste rose in the back of his mouth. He brushed those unpleasant thoughts aside and for the first time realized that he had not made any plans on what exactly he would say to his now-unemployed Starling. 'That is strange,' he thought. He couldn't remember the last time he had made any unplanned move where his future freedom might be concerned. Things had certainly been whimsical lately, he supposed, what with Clarice's unfortunate decision on July 4th, when he had been so sure she would have at least given him the key before removing his own thumb. And now this opportunity to redeem herself presenting itself like a juicy piece of fruit hanging from the tree. How fortunate.

Lecter approached Starling's home. From the window near the door, he could see her on a chair. From this angle, he could only see her head and shoulders, but it was obvious that she was crying. Lecter felt a stab of pain, and circled her house, into the small backyard, and opened the unlocked back door as quietly as possible. He walked silently until he could again see her.

"Clarice," he called softly.

Her shoulders stiffened, then dropped again.

"It's going to sound strange," she began, "but I was waiting for you to show up."

Warning bells sounded in Lecter's mind, but he silenced them with a newfound hope that she had been waiting for him so she could change her mind.

"Why is that?" he asked without emotion.

"I knew you would come. It's okay, though. I was thinking about things. About us, sometimes." Starling rose from her seat, and Dr. Lecter could now see her tear-stained face.

"What about us?" he prompted.

"I was thinking that, in some ways... we sort of match."

Lecter smiled. "I know that, my dear. What else have you been thinking?"

Clarice's hand rose and rubbed at one of her reddened eyes. "That the FBI really doesn't care the least whether I live or die."

Lecter's smile remained. "I know that too. I've tried to tell you, if you'll recall."

Clarice nodded. "Also that..." but her voice trailed off.

Lecter could see that this particular confession was difficult to voice. He indulged in a moment of fantasy about all the things she might say. All Dr. Lecter said, however, was "Yes," to again prompt her to continue.

"I've learned that the FBI doesn't just give its approval. One has to earn it," she finished solidly.

Dr. Lecter was beginning to notice that Starling's broken wings weren't so broken. In fact, this whole thing was starting to smell very much like a trap to lure in a predator using a _false_ limp.

Starling lifted the .45 from its hidden position in the chair's cushion, and aimed it at Lecter. "I love you, Hannibal. I do," she said as she cocked the hammer. "But as you've said. I'm IN love with the FBI."

The single shot dropped Lecter like a stone without allowing him any time to respond.

New tears ran down Clarice's face. "I'm sorry, but your death might make the FBI love me again."

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Sorry everyone. Usually I'm all for the happy fics, but this one wouldn't get out of my head until I wrote it out, Then I figured, hey, why not hoist it on the unsuspecting Lecter fans. Still, I would always appreciate reviews (maybe it'll stop me from a repeat performance, if anything). So please review!


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